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Its a funny place to be.

I wonder very often, this is such a funny world. People are people for a while until you experience them. How do you experience them? You know so many people, at the same time you hardly know anyone. I know so many things about myself, there are so many things others know of me. Are they true or for that matter what is it to be true? It’s just a funny world; everything is here for a while, just for a while.

I know you for a while or for quite some time, but who knows why I know you. How do I know till when do I know you and from when do I know you. Is it really a funny world?

There is so much to everything, that I feel I should close my eyes for a while. What if I forget how to open them again? I am made of me and me is just a miniscule of what makes me, me. I want to stand for a while, wet my feet and move them in mid air.

Traveling alone since I was sixteen; from the then deserted pathways of Auroville to teaching monks at a monastery in Dharamsala, from cooking for strangers in Morocco to make a living to finding my family roots in the mystical land of Benares; little did I know that a timid little boy who was brought up in an unconventional milieu would someday articulate his thoughts through visuals that would speak his mind.